


Aphelion

by cadmean



Category: Kill Six Billion Demons (Webcomic)
Genre: Dream Invasion, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Mindfuck, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 11:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12231609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadmean/pseuds/cadmean
Summary: Assume that there are six pieces of wood aligned in a rough circle. In the middle is a seventh piece, likewise of wood but larger than any of the others. If any of the six move, the seventh will break out of the circle and crush them all.Assume an eighth piece, long gone, now makes its return. The circle of six cannot hold the eighth while containing the seventh.Assume you are one of the six. What do you do?...burn down everything, of course.





	Aphelion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laylah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/gifts).



In the wake of the King of the Pit there fell a thousand crystal towers and a hundred emerald cities, and the stone-armored armies of his enemies scattered in turn. Only few could stand against him, and even fewer did.

And yet upon arriving at the shardsteel fortress where the Red God had hidden himself away, he simply raised his arm, sword in hand, and knocked against the impenetrable gates.

The sound was hollow and broken but the gates swung open nevertheless. From within the darkness there came a mighty roar, and the King of the Pit turned to his men and said, “Lo, I will tame this beast, and I will shape it for my purposes, and when I return we shall all of us lay waste to this forsaken city.” And he stepped into the depths of the darkness, and when the gates clamped shut behind him his armies of fire and blood waited and waited and waited.

It is said that he never returned from the depths of that fortress, but it is also said that the King of the Pit lived to tempt a thousand thousand souls yet, so _what is said_ may not be something worth listening to.

Now move, move-- there are rats to catch.

\--Valji Taskvendor

Lord of the Rat-Catchers’ Guild and Historian of the Lower Shades

 

* * *

 

Al’Mumit was colossal and foreboding even in the ethereal and ever-changing realm of dreams. The rock and black shardmetal that made up the bulwark of its first layer of defense shone dimly in the reflected dead light of the askew sun, and among the parapets floated the soulsparks of its worldly defenders.

Incubus passed through them easily, without being noticed; hopping from one dream to the next with only a fleeting touch as minds brushed together. The dreamscape parted before him like silk, and it was impossible not to feel giddy as he covered the immense distance between one thought and the next in the time it took for mortal men to breathe. Though easy, under usual circumstances this journey would not have been necessary in the first place. But just as Al’Mumit was defended from all worldly invasions so too was the mind of its ruler fortified: if he wanted to have a go at Jagganoth, Incubus would have to reach him first.

Even so it was disgustingly easy. Past all the small minds and contained dreams lay Jagganoth’s own mindscape, furled around the heart of Al’Mumit and holding tight like some great wyrmbeast -- and Incubus, he slipped past its boundaries with practiced ease.

“Disappointing,” he breathed, a moment before the mindscape solidified around him and he found himself within--

One of the myriad universes now under Jagganoth’s control, but before all of that, when the world was still wild and unconquered. The Corpse Legion, untold many of them, marching past a battlefield – some of their number had fallen there. Many hadn’t. Those who had survived counted themselves only slightly luckier than those who would never return – but Jagganoth, above all else, was a survivor. He clung close to the coattails of his senior officer when out of battle and later, when that self-same officer fell, Jagganoth picked up the golden lanyard she had been wearing and wrapped it around his own body instead. He wept, but if asked even then he would not have been able to answer what for.

The mindscape shifted to—

Al’Mumit, closer to the present. Layers and layers of shardsteel and hardened glass passed by Incubus as he dove into the deepest layers of Jagganoth's soul until, at last, he found himself at the forge-heart of the fortress.

The anvil was minuscule compared to the large form working away at it; and under the steady, heavy beat of the hammer the glowing hot metal pressed against the anvil's surface began to take the shape of nails. Incubus watched, enraptured, as the mindscape's Jagganoth hammered away at the metal spread out in front of him.

And as he watched feathers turn into painful, sharp edges, a heavy hand settled on his shoulder. The touch was startling in and of itself – solid, strangely cold, and with Jagganoth still working away on the anvil far below, utterly impossible.

“Come to spy, little king?”

Very slowly Incubus turned. And yes, even though it was impossible, there in front of him stood Jagganoth: body scarred and inhumanly large, that red helmet still covering his face more effectively than any other mask ever could have, and his flame burning bright – lit from behind by the lights of the mindscape’s forgefires, it was easy to see why so many revered and feared him in equal measure.

At the sight of him Incubus, despite his best efforts, flinched. He covered it well enough, he figured, passing it off as a shrug before grinning wide and launching into his usual spiel. “Close, but not quite. I’ve come to make you an offer. A deal, if you will.”

He thought it was fairly well-done, and going by past experience – petty little queens and tyrants and dreamers all bowing down and accepting his offer – it was usually an effective offer but, as with all things when it came to the other demiurges, ‘usually’ wasn’t good enough for any of them. Incubus realized that he was out of his depths halfway into it while Jagganoth, for his part, took the obvious if regrettable route of taking an enraged swing at Incubus—but Incubus’ hold on the mindscape was absolute. He simply chose to take a small step back and that was all it took not to get hit; Jagganoth’s fist went past him without even getting within reach.

“Better luck next time, I guess,” he drawled, taking no small amount of satisfaction in having outmatched Jagganoth at least in this regard. With a mocking smile on his lips, Incubus took another measured step backwards – and when his foot set down he was in another place entirely, having crossed not only that small amount of space but also several layers of the dreamscape. How Jagganoth had been aware enough to find Incubus in the first place, he didn’t want to put too much thought into – Jagganoth was a demiurge, after all, but beyond all that Jagganoth was _Jagganoth_. Most of the rules that applied to the rest of creation seemed to just pearl off of him much in the same way swords did. But let the big lumbering idiot find him now; the mindscape was Incubus’ domain through and through, and he’d run circles around anyone foolish enough to try and keep up with him.

Behind him, porcelain shattered against a stone floor.

Incubus froze at the sound and, slowly, began to cast a look around this new layer of the mindscape. A street like any other: dirty, the cobblestones broken, the sides of it lined with shops and stalls and colorful banners.

Those were dirtied, now; the stalls broken, the shops thrashed, the banners torn and flecked with the blood that had spilled from the numerous bodies littering all available surfaces of the street.

An almost-typical day in the Red City, then.

It was the figure standing amidst all this carnage that made Incubus take a step back in surprise.

“No,” he breathed, and with the kind of heavy weight that he presumed fell on the shoulders of those he’d talked into serving him, Incubus had the terrible, terrible feeling that he was no longer in Jagganoth’s mindscape at all.

In front of him, the dreamscape’s Maya, Mathangi ten Meti, Sword Queen and General of the Middle Army and Self-Professed Noodle Vendor, one of the seven syllables of Royalty shining on her brow like the god-forged sun above Throne once used to—

That Maya, she raised a hand to her own forehead and with a disgusted expression tore out the very symbol of her power. Sneering at Incubus – impossible, she couldn’t see him, this was a _memory_ – she tossed the key of kings at his feet.

“Take it, then,” she said, and Incubus had the distinct impression that this mindscape version of her was even more derisive-sounding than his memory of her. “If you want it so much, then _take it_. I’m done.”

She turned around and began to walk away—

The mindscape shifted again, through no doing on Incubus’ part.

Lethyx, the Great Pit. Derelict and dirty and littered with the dead dreams and broken hopes of uncountable souls. Incubus now found himself standing on one of the walkways, looking down at his kingdom, while beside him stood the smug purple bastard himself.

“You should take better care of Maya’s demesne,” Solomon David said. “This is no state for her kingdom to be in.”

Even knowing that it wasn’t real didn’t stop Incubus from bristling at both the tone and the words themselves – in fact, Solomon David’s mere presence was an insult, even in this dreamworld version of his domain.

Incubus stepped forward, readying himself to strike—

The scene froze, and there was a disgusting _shift_ as whatever reality existed here had to readjust itself.

When it had settled, it came to no surprise to Incubus that it was now Jagganoth who stood in front of him. How the walkway bore his weight he had no idea, and he found himself wondering whether this was just another quirk of the dreamscape or whether he was missing something obvious even as Jagganoth leaned forward and made a grab at him.

There was no time to evade and Incubus doubted that he’d have managed even then – the dreamscape was sluggish around him, and he couldn’t get a hold on it whatsoever. So Jagganoth could close a hand around his torso just as easily others would grab a green devil, and when he lifted him off of the ground just far enough to be uncomfortable, Incubus could only glower at him.

“Better luck next time, was it?” Jagganoth stared down at him. “Well, little king. Heed your own advice.”

Without making a sound, the motion as casual as could be, Jagganoth flung him against the central spire of the Pit. Even as he was crashing into the stone there the mindscape refused to respond to his demands – heavy, unwilling, and Incubus came to heart-sinking realization that Jagganoth’s hold over it must be leaving no room whatsoever for him.

Impact.

Debris rained down around him as he slid down to the floor of the walkway, but even here, Incubus noted, the mindscape was off. The pain was there but it was dull, and the stones were cold and rough but not quite as real-solid as they should have been – _would_ have been, if he’d been in control.

“What now, princeling?” Jagganoth watched him, still and solid and entirely unreadable. “If you want to flee, to turn tail and run – we both know that you can’t possibly hope to match my power, even here in your chosen domain. Go on. Run, little king. I’m not in the mood to squash you today.”

Incubus had no doubts that he meant it, too – Jagganoth was very much like the king of all devils in that regard. After all, if you had close to unmatchable power at your disposal, what need was there to lie?

With a weary sigh, he picked himself up from out of the dreamscape debris. “As I said earlier: I’ve come to make you an offer.”

He half-expected Jagganoth to have another go at making a wall decoration out of him when he took a lumbering step forward – but instead, Jagganoth simply looked down at him and said, “You show tenacity, if nothing else. What are you offering?”

Incubus smiled. “An alliance of sorts. As long as the rest of us can form a united front, you can’t move forward. As long as the rest of us stand united,” he emphasized, taking a step towards Jagganoth. “What I’m offering you is a way to tear them apart. The old man will be choosing his heir soon – he’s not being particularly subtle about his comings and goings. When he does choose, we get the heir and use them to drive the others apart. Easy.”

There was a pregnant pause.

Then Jagganoth nodded. “Why?”

Incubus spread his arms in response. There was a slight, second-long resistance before Jagganoth relinquished his hold on the dreamscape and Incubus was free to shape it as he wished—

Before them, the concordance of the demiurges. The last time they had all seven of them gathered there. The scene now frozen before them was modeled from Incubus’ memory, and where his own viewpoint necessarily met its limits he augmented it with readily-supplied information from Jagganoth.

The great stone table was, for the moment, still whole and unblemished. All seven of the demiurges were seated around it, resplendent and horrific; above them, Zoss’ throne remained as empty as it had been for so long. Jagganoth and Incubus stood on the opposing end sides of the table, seizing up both each other and the dreamscape’s versions of themselves, seated along the sides of the table.

With a nod at Zoss’ empty throne, Incubus continued, “When faced with an equilibrium of power like this – a scale, balanced so minutely that even the slightest tremor will upset it, where even a single breath might tip it over – what do you do?” Incubus laughed and before them, the scene moved on. The dreamscape’s Jagganoth, fury in his single eye, smashed a large fist down onto the table where cracks immediately spread in all directions while the rest of those gathered visibly recoiled. “Easy. You take the fucking scale and smash it into a million pieces.”

Jagganoth seemed to consider his words – he was silent, in any case, and that mask of his of course betrayed no emotion whatsoever. Then he, too, let out a low chuckle. “And you’ll do the smashing? I fear you may be overestimating yourself, little king.”

“What? No. I’m just another weight on the scale, as it were – I’ll fall. But I’ll get to see everyone else fall with me and that, Jagganoth, is what makes all of this worthwhile. I—“

“You talk too much.” As with all things where Jagganoth was concerned, the threat was implicit. But Incubus wouldn’t have been able to get his hands on one of the seven names of Royalty if he were afraid of threats – even if Jagganoth cut an imposing figure, still looming over him.

Incubus forced a smile and backed up a bit. “You did ask—“

Before he could finish, let alone make do all that much of anything else, Jagganoth had closed the remaining distance between them. One huge hand made a grab for Incubus’ neck and, when Incubus proved too slow to evade its grasp, squeezed tight. Disconcerting under the best of circumstances, but Incubus quickly realized that where Jagganoth touched him the mindscape’s reality was rapidly fading away – Incubus’ preferred form all but tearing to shreds the longer Jagganoth held on. Short hair gave way to longer, unkempt strands; unblemished skin became scarred and battle-worn.

When he finally loosened his grip the image didn’t reassert itself – not for lack of trying on Incubus’ part, but even as he made to wrest back the necessary power over the mindscape, Jagganoth shifted his grip and pushed his thumb against Incubus’ lips.

He didn’t resist. There was no point. Incubus opened his mouth and let Jagganoth push his finger inside. The skin was strangely cool and tasted of ash and blood, and as Incubus did his best to smile instead of gag around the finger pushing as far down his throat as possible, Jagganoth repeated, “What else are you offering?”

It was only when Incubus made a point to bare his teeth in a snarl and bite at the finger did Jagganoth finally withdraw it. He spit, but the mindscape caused it to sizzle away into nothing before it could hit the ground. “What else do you _want_?”

Even then, Incubus didn’t know whether it was Jagganoth or himself who caused it. But the mindscape shifted around the two of them once more, running through a myriad of variations between one breath and the next:

The feather-forge buried deep underneath Al’Mumit, the huge anvil splattered with blood as battle raged all around it; Throne burning, the very city itself tipped to the side while high in the skies brief bursts of red flashed like stars; an ebon devil, mask twisted into a grimace of pain as Jagganoth swatted him aside, an abruptly cut-off scream dying as the devil did; Jagganoth again, standing in front of Jadis’ prison, the stone now cracked and broken and the woman inside it finally breathing her last; Jagganoth opening a clenched fist to reveal that Solomon David’s face in death, at the very least, no longer radiated smugness; Incubus, blood flowing from a cut on his head, on his knees before Jagganoth, whose fingers were tangled in his long hair—

Then the previous scene reasserted itself and they were back at the Concordance, which, Incubus noted between shallow breaths, was now deserted.

There was only silence from Jagganoth, but now Incubus found himself thinking back to what he’d seen in the dreamscape before he’d been discovered – understanding began to dawn, if several moments later than he’d have preferred, and he smiled up at Jagganoth. Cocking his head, Incubus drawled in that long, drawn-out way that he knew Jagganoth found grating at the best of times, and which Solomon David was so fond of, “ _Well_.”

Still no outright response from Jagganoth, but that wasn’t an obstacle any longer. Had Jagganoth outright denied Incubus’ offer of an alliance – an unlikely outcome, to be sure, but it was good to keep an open mind where the other demiurges were concerned – then that would’ve been that. Had he accepted: same thing, save for being the obviously preferable outcome.

But this. This Incubus could _work_ with.

While he was rapidly trying to figure out how to best capitalize on this newfound revelation, Jagganoth, acting very much like he hadn’t just shown his hand much too early into the game, dropped his hand from Incubus’ neck to his shoulder. Then he pushed, the motion heavy and deliberate – and Incubus knelt, with as much grace as the iron-like grip on his shoulder afforded him. It was not what he’d have chosen to do, but he also didn’t feel particularly enthusiastic about matching himself against Jagganoth’s hold over the dreamscape again so soon, so kneeling it was.

Jagganoth laughed from beneath his helmet. “Do you surrender so easily to everyone, little king?” His single eye shone in the sudden gloom that filled the room, and it didn’t take much effort on Incubus’ part to make a slightly pained face in response. “Ah. I thought not.”

It went as expected from there. Incubus was full of fire, full of flame, and lust, in all its various trappings, was only another form of fire – so when Jagganoth’s form suddenly lost that ridiculous loincloth and bared his suddenly erect cock, Incubus was not surprised. Instead of recoiling he leaned forward at a gesture of Jagganoth’s, and wrapped both of his hands around it – it was large, uncomfortably so, but nevertheless Incubus once more opened his mouth wide and wrapped his lips around it.

A few inches in and his jaw was stretched uncomfortably already and Jagganoth kept pushing, the hand he had on the back of his neck steady as he forced his cock further down Incubus’ throat. The dreamscape must have been doing some heavy compensating for Jagganoth’s quite frankly ridiculous size, Incubus noted almost absentmindedly – it was uncomfortable, he wasn’t getting enough air, but if fit. It shouldn’t, not with the size difference between them, but somehow it did: he couldn’t so much as swallow for the way the muscles of his throat were stretched, but _it fit_.

When he felt as if he was going to pass out Jagganoth lifted his hand and Incubus pulled back, gasping for air. After an embarrassingly long moment of that, Jagganoth said, “Go on. At your own pace.”

That was as much of a win as he was likely to get out of the situation at this point, so Incubus leaned forward. He briefly engulfed the head with his mouth, licking, suckling just enough to be maddening, and then Incubus pulled back, looking up at Jagganoth. With a calculated smile he licked his lips and asked, “Now, about that alliance I was proposing . . .”

Jagganoth laughed. The sound was low and heavy and it took a moment before Incubus could actually place the rumbling that was coming from beneath that ridiculous helmet – but yes, Jagganoth was laughing. And then, still laughing, he tangled a hand in Incubus’ hair and pushed him back down on his cock.

“Enough of that. This,” Jagganoth tightened his grip uncomfortably until Incubus winced, “is not an alliance. It’s a temporary cease-fire, right up until it stops being useful. Then you’ll be just another falling weight on that scale of yours, little king.”

It was the most Incubus had ever heard Jagganoth speak in one go, but with Jagganoth’s cock down his throat he currently felt himself to be in a singularly unsuited position to appreciate the dubious novelty of it.

Then Jagganoth started moving, and Incubus had other things to worry about. It wasn’t that he was rough – which, to be fair, he was – but more that the sheer size of him made things increasingly difficult. Jagganoth thrust off-canter so that there was no time to adjust, and his hand, still wrapped around Incubus’ neck, squeezed increasingly tighter until he came with a choked-sounding grunt.

With Jagganoth’s hand still holding him fast Incubus had no choice but to swallow, choking down the flood of Jagganoth’s come, while Jagganoth himself gave a satisfied rumble. Come dribbled down from the corners of Incubus’ mouth and he let it, dripping down onto the ethereal mindscape floor. They stayed like that for a moment too long, until Jagganoth relinquished his grip and took a step back. Eye fixed on the kneeling form below him, Jagganoth said, “Go. Our alliance is sealed for now, little king.”

Incubus, only just managing to hold himself back from turning around, went—

—And in the great Pit of Lethyx, Incubus opened his eyes.

His breath was short and he felt light-headed as he got up to his feet, wading out of the thick layer of blood covering the floor with slower motions than usual.

Once outside, he made his way to his throne. Golden cups littered the space all around it and he kicked at a few inopportunely placed ones, until at last a path opened and he sat.

Still his breaths came in a frantic cadence. He’d not expected Jagganoth to put up so much of a fight, not at all, but he’d gotten his alliance, so that was all that mattered – even if his throat still hurt and the mind-inflicted bruises on his neck still smarted.

But he’d gotten what he wanted, and that was that.

With a lazy wave of his hand, Incubus opened up the communicator that had been so insistently hailing him. “What do you want?”

In a brilliant flash of light appeared the form of an andro-sphinx. “Lord,” said Praman Nand, “there has been an incursion upon my domain. A girl, with a key of kings embedded upon her brow.”

Incubus smiled, and for the first time in a long while the expression was genuine.


End file.
